


A Test of Faith

by taoroo



Series: In This Place, Forever [4]
Category: Ladyhawke (1985)
Genre: Aftercare, Domestic Discipline, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 22:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18020036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taoroo/pseuds/taoroo
Summary: Philippe has doubts, Etienne and Isabeau are at pains to ease them





	A Test of Faith

I learned from the very first day I met him, that it was unwise to underestimate Philippe the Mouse. His tenacity, his spirit, his unrestrained desire for freedom in every aspect of his living, those I had come well accustomed to. Sadly, it put us often at odds in a hundred small ways. In the times since my dearest Isabeau and I had taken him into our home and our lives, I and my hand had become the more common victor. He would protest, but his arguments would always be unsound, based on a lifetime of learning that we were at long pains to correct. Philippe’s morals were built upon an uneven foundation, but with goodness at its heart. We knew our brother was not wicked, but he needed constant guidance to keep upon the honest path. Often that guidance was by my hand, or Isabeau’s when the need arose.

I was certain Philippe sought this kind of attention from both of us, and with near alarming frequency. I had taken council from Imperious on the matter, the old monk’s wise words staying with me, ready to repeat whenever my young brat tested his limitations:

_“Philippe is born from a place without love or comfort. He learnt to provide for himself in all ways, both material and immaterial. Why else do you think he speaks to God with such candour? He has had much practice being alone.”_

_“Surely he would wish to keep as good as possible for us, instead of inviting our displeasure, if he is afraid we might turn him aside?”_

_“Fear is what drives him, Etienne. Philippe fears that he will one day wear out your patience. He still does not understand your and Isabeau’s unconditional love for him, it frightens him that it might be lost.”_

_“And so he pushes.”_

_“Yes. It is a test of your faith and of his.”_

I vowed from that moment that I would never fail that test. Philippe was deserving of love, whole and unconditional. In times of frustration I reminded myself of that vow.

Times such as now.

Philippe was sat at the writing desk in what had steadily become his study more than mine or Isabeau’s. His head was bent over the ledger, ignoring me, as if what he had just said was of little consequence.

Perhaps I had been mistaken.

“What did you say?” I heard the spark of anger in my voice and chastised myself.

Philippe clearly heard it too and I saw his hand tighten about his quill, the only outward sign that he was affected. Despite all we were to one another, he still feared my anger and so I took great pains to mask it, even when I was truly vexed. Again I cursed the dark shades of his past that caused him to flinch so; and my part in it too, for the first days of our friendship had tested our bond to breaking point.

“Everything is in order, sir. I have made ready the accounts and set aside the necessary payments for all services going forward. When Imperious returns to his castle I shall accompany him and then on to Lepus.”

“And what do you plan to do there?” I made sure my voice was better controlled this time, but perhaps it lacked too little emotion? Dearest Isabeau has teased me that I am a poor judge of these things.

Philippe paused for only a moment, but it was telling. “I… you don’t need to worry yourself over such trifling matters, sir. You will have far more important things to concern yourself with after all.”

Ah. So that was it. Silly ass!

Imperious was to arrive with us in little over a week, well in advance of our child’s due arrival. I had noticed Philippe’s manner had been withdrawn these past few days... perhaps weeks if I was being honest with myself. How long had this been playing upon my brother’s mind? Thinking back on it there had been no cause to call him into line for quite some time; a troubling thought in itself. Though this new, mature manner had been a surprise, I knew best how to nettle my brother into speaking from his heart.

“So,” I said, taking a wide stance, folding my arms, and looking down upon him with that patronisingly benevolent smile I knew would rile him should he choose to turn about, “you resent the baby.”

Philippe prickled at once, his quill spattering ink upon the page. He bit off a curse, dabbing at the ledger with his sleeve, but he still would not face me. “Of course, I don’t! Of all the—” he spluttered and then continued to mutter darkly under his breath.

“You are running away then.”

“What?! I… Nonsense!”

“Ah, you have grown sick of us both and despise our company.”

Philippe jumped up, slamming his quill upon the table as he finally faced me, flushed and spoiling for a fight.

“Etienne, you ass! You know I would never—!” His voice choked and he blinked away tears. It hurt to watch him, his chin raised proudly, fighting to keep from shaming himself before me.

I nodded grimly and stalked toward him, grasping his collar and pulling him forward. I wrapped my arm around his back, securing him against my hip, and wasted no more time in using my right hand to its greatest effect.

Philippe had filled out a little in the year since we had been free of our curse, no less lithe but no longer scrawny. Still, I could easily handle him as he kicked and squalled, his arms trapped to his body, unable to reach back and shield his bottom as I knew he wanted to do.

“No! Et— AH! Sto— OW! You can’t— OHH!”

“I can and I shall,” I said sternly.

“But I haven’t— OWW!!! —I haven’t done a-anything wrong!”

“No?”

“No, you clod!”

I let him hear my chuckle at that, and kept right on whacking.

“You have n-no right—!”

“I have the right as your brother. As someone who loves you.”

“I-I am not your brother!”

My hand froze above its target, stopped as quickly as my heart.

“You do not mean that, Philippe,” I said, my voice as hollow as I felt within.

He stopped his frantic flailing, hanging limp in my grip.

“It’s true,” he said, head bent low, and misery in his voice. “We are… I am not your brother. Not t-truly.”

I clenched my jaw, having to fight against the impulse to thrash him silly. I let my hand rest upon his rear, and felt the way he trembled.

“Not by blood, no,” I said. “But in my heart, in Isabeau’s heart, we love you more than any brother of blood.”

He shuddered and then shook his head.

I steeled myself and grasped his trousers, ripping them and his underclothes down. I began swatting again, fast and powerful, aiming to drive him quickly to a frantic state.

“You said I had no reason to smack you, but don’t you remember your promise to us, little Mouse? What did we say you must do, if you ever doubted our love for you, or felt saddened by your thoughts?”

He sucked in his breath and grasped the fabric of his tunic with both hands, twisting it to knots.

“Philippe Navarre!” I hefted, picking my brother up from the floor so that he hung from my arm. His poor legs kicked to find the floor but I would not let them. No, I was determined to be Philippe’s single source of solidity.

“AHH!! NO! NOT— Please! Not there!”

I continued spanking his lower cheeks, right where the skin was its most sensitive, making sure that his thighs felt their share of this treatment.

“OWW, s-stooop!” His voice was growing damp. Ah. Finally.

“What. Did. You. Promise?” I demanded, landing my hardest swats yet.

“NOOO!!” He kicked and writhed and then burst into tears. Always so dramatic, my little brother.

“T-talk,” he sobbed. “P-promised to t-t-talk.”

“You promised to talk to us, didn’t you, dear brother?”

He choked and gulped, and then gave a hesitant, jerking nod.

“So talk to me, brother. Why do you want to leave us?”

“Don’t… I _don’t_ …” he sobbed.

“But you fear you will have to, when the child is born.”

Philippe’s breath caught in his throat.

“We won’t love you any more, because we will love the child instead.”

Philippe pressed his face against my thigh and sobbed. My heart bled for him.

“Is that what you fear, my brother? Do you think we will only love you until another comes along to take your place? Someone linked to us by blood.”

He shuddered, unable or unwilling to reply. I resumed my spanking and he wailed but kept his head bent low.

“We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we, my Mouse?” I said when his bottom was growing quite shiny under my hand.

Philippe groaned and sniffled.

“Please stop."

“I don’t think I will.”

“But it hurts!”

“Not as much as your poor heart, I’d wager.”

He whined again but didn’t dispute me.

“Philippe,” I said, knowing I sounded very stern. “You will never leave our hearts. I don’t know what to say that will convince you so perhaps my hand shall suffice.” Inspiration struck me then and so I made good on my thoughts, securing my brother well in place before I strode with him from the room. I doubted in his current state dear Philippe would notice, any more than he noticed that we left his trousers and smalls on the floor behind us. I laid my swats down just as hard and regularly all the same.

Our beloved Isabeau was in the parlour darning when I found her. She looked up with mild interest when we entered, her perfect lips quirked in sympathy for our young brother.

“I have come to solicit your aid, beloved,” I said, still smacking, but not so much or so hard that Philippe could not hear our words. The poor soul froze in understanding of his situation and then burst into yet more vicious sobs.

Isabeau pursed her lips in a pitying mou. “It must be something serious, his dear bottom is already quite crimson.”

I shared with my love a sympathetic look, filled with love and patient understanding for our lost little Mouse.

In these situations it was usual for Isabeau to take Philippe onto her own lap. However, given the extent of her condition, such a thing as no longer feasible. Instead I took a free chair and set it beside her, laying my brother over the arm of her chair and taking the second myself, his torso in my lap. I saw Isabeau lift a judicious leg over Philippe’s own, trapping them between hers; a sensible gambit given how sore he would soon become and his tendency to kick.

“I fear we have been terribly remiss of our duties,” I told my lady with true regret. “I believe it has been three weeks since our dear brother last sought out a hot bottom.”

“Three weeks?” Isabeau exclaimed even as below her Philippe squirmed at my choice of words, “has it been so long?” She laid a sympathetic hand upon our brother’s rosy backside and shot me a look of concern, the humour in her voice not yet meeting her eyes.

I nodded. _Aye my love, the hurt is very deep, but we shall mend our brother’s broken heart._

Philippe meanwhile had seen fit to rally against our words.

“A-and why is that so surprising?” he sassed. “I am a grown man, after all. And I resent the implication, sir, that I seek such treatment!”

Isabeau and I shared a grin. No matter his situation, our dear Philippe still possessed an unquenchable spirit.

“No?” Isabeau asked, laying down her first smack and, _ohh_ , I was dearly grateful not to be under her hand. Phillipe shrieked, as well he ought, and wrapped his arms tightly about my middle.

“You have been very good these past weeks,” my love said solemnly, sharing another glance with me and the guilt that lay there. “Too good, now that I think on it.”

“That has been the trouble, has it not, my love?” I said, ducking my head and speaking quietly into Phillipe’s crimson-tipped ear, one hand brushing back the tumbled strands of his hair behind it. “We all know better than to leave you alone with your thoughts.”

Isabeau spanked on, causing Phillipe to finch and twitch and cry out; soft, muted gasps since the first. The poor poppet was trying to be brave, for our lady’s sake, I was certain. Time to change that.

“Tell Isabeau what you told me, little Mouse,” I ordered, letting my ‘Captain of the Guard’ voice slip in.

Philippe tensed and shuddered, I’m sure with a mix of mortification and wholesome dread. Still, he fought to absolve himself of censure.

“I-I simply said that I had arranged the AH!—accounts,” he said with a touch of fire. “I did not w-wish for you to be in-incon—AH!—venienced after I was g-gone.”

Isabeau stilled her hand, much as I had done when my emotions had overwhelmed me. My heart broke for her, but love must sometimes face harsh truth.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice fraught.

Hearing this, Philippe gasped and then struggled in my grip, fighting to turn and console his sister. I held fast, warring with my own anger.

“No, Phillipe,” I said, my tone stern, and gave him a shake to rattle the confession from him. “Answer her. Tell her what you meant.”

“I—I,” he said, fat tears of frustration scattering from his lashes. “I mean… t-to,” he could go no further, instead burying his face in my lap and sobbing furiously.

I grit my jaw against comforting him; Philippe had his own harsh truth to be confronted. When I looked to my lady, I saw for a brief moment the eye of the hawk she had once been.

“Hold him tightly, my love,” she said, her voice measured.

I nodded, steeling myself as she had, and renewed my grip of our brother, one arm resting firm across his back whilst the other hand wrapped over the nape of his neck. I saw Isabeau locking her legs in place; our brother was immobile.

Philippe of course sensed the change, his body stiffening in panic, but I believe he was still fully unprepared for Isabeau’s hand as it thundered down upon his unprotected rear. He screamed, and kept right on screaming, putting the hounds to shame with the din. Isabeau for her part laid down a volley of whacks the like of which I had never before witnessed. To be plain I was in awe of her, my warrioress, full with child and no less the reckonable force, perhaps even more so in this moment.

Steeled as we were against our brother’s distress, the moment his sobs lost their frantic edge and settled into a more heartfelt weeping, Isabeau halted her assault, her hand turned to soothing the scorched flesh beneath it.

Philippe shuddered and fell slack against my arms, fully submissive, his fire banked.

I rubbed gentle circles over his back, my hand at his neck caressing his hair. He groaned lowly, barely able to lean toward my hands, though it was plain he sought the comfort dearly. From my position his backside was sorely marked, fresh, white handprints laid over the uniform scarlet. He would need a cold compress once we were finished.

“I believe the lady has spoken,’ I murmured to him, leaning over to place a kiss upon Philippe’s brow. “Are her feelings on the matter in any way unclear?”

Philippe’s breath hitched and he shook his head rapidly. He twisted, burying his face into my shirt, and shuddered through a fresh bout of tears.

“You are free to leave us if ever you truly wish it,” I said solemnly, “but only if you truly wish it within your heart.”

Astonishingly, Philippe spoke, or at least attempted to:

“B-but...” came the muffled response.

I sighed and took a firm hold of his upper arms, standing and scooping my brother into a child’s carry, my arm under his thighs to save his sore backside. All Philippe had strength for was a muffled protest, but protest he still did.

“Enough, brat,” I said, swatting him lightly. He squeaked like his namesake and obeyed. I held a hand for my dear wife, who took it demurely. The heat of her palm was considerable and I raised my brow in a silent question which was returned with a smile and a wink.

Once we entered the sitting room I let go of my beloved’s hand to take hold of our brother once more, lifting him and seating him not ungently in the middle of the chaise.

Philippe gasped and winced, pressing his hands upon the seat and trying to lift his sore rear away. Though not unsympathetic to his plight, I remained steadfast and pushed upon his shoulders, keeping him firmly in place.

“No,” I ordered, Captain once more, “No, little Mouse. You shall sit here and listen.”

“But it hurrrts,” he whined.

“All the better to focus your attention,” Isabeau said, her arms folded across the expanse of our child, just as stern.

Phillipe looked between us, his lips bitten closed and his eyes huge and swimming with yet more tears. Seeing that we were unmoved by this display he wrapped his arms about himself, hung his head, and gave a wretched sniffle. Sitting as he did, trying his hardest not to squirm, with his shirt - overlarge as they all tended to be on him - coming to his knees, and his hair sweat-damp and wild, he looked like a well-chastised, miserable child.

I saw my dear Isabeau’s heart melting and felt mine do so itself. We sat then, either side of our precious brother, each placing a hand upon an arm and drawing them to his lap, our free hands wrapping around his back to embrace him from both sides.

“Dearest Mouse,” Isabeau murmured, her forehead resting against his, “have we given you any reason to believe you are unwanted?”

His breath hitched and he shook his head, no.

“But we have been less attentive these past few weeks, have we not?” I admitted, ducking my head to try and catch his sorry gaze. “You feared that we would forget you altogether, when the baby came.”

Another sob, but he did not deny it.

“You know that there is space in our hearts for both you and a child, don’t you?” Isabeau said.

“I don’t believe he does,” I said, my heart heavy, “and I don’t believe he _will_ know, until it is proven. Until then, he will just have to believe our word.

I raised a hand to tilt his chin upward until he could not help but look me in the eye. I knew the lightness of my gaze could disturb, as I used often to my advantage in my position as Captain of the Guard, but it never ceased to please me what an enraptured expression it drew from my Mouse. He often accused me of my own dark magic when I employed this tactic. Magic or no I could not fault its efficacy.

”You loved Isabeau when first you met her, didn’t you?”

Phillipe, enthralled, gave a quick and jerking nod.

“And later, when you came to love me - as I hope you do - did your love for her lessen?”

”No!” he grimaced, the very idea clearly appalling to him.

”It is the same with us,” I said. “My love for my lady has never lessened, my heart simply grew to  fit you in as well.”

”Mine also, dear one,” Isabeau smiled, the look she gave me sending fire through my veins.

“I love you,” I said, turning back to Phillipe and focusing my sincerity into my gaze. “Isabeau loves you. We shall _never_ abandon you, even for our own blood.”

“Because you _are_ blood to us,” Isabeau continued, taking his chin in her own hand and turning his head toward her beautiful eyes. “You are our brother, Philippe Navarre, and soon you will be an uncle too. Besides,” she smiled and shot me a quick glance, which I answered with an approving nod, “how do you think our child will fare if their Godfather is not about to guide them?”

“G-God-father?!” Philippe squeaked, his eyes round as saucers.

I shared a chuckle with my beloved. “Yes, brat, and less of the incredulous tone, if you please. We were going to ask after the birth but now is as good a time as any.”

“But...” he foundered, wholly unbalanced by the idea, “ _me_?”

Isabeau snatched up his hands in both of hers, pressing them to her breast. “Please say you will, won’t you, Philippe?”

“I h-hardly think I am a-appropriate,” Philippe muttered, looking away with a grimace.

“Who better to guide our child in the ways of God than a man who speaks directly to Him?” I said, not caring to hide the laughter in my voice.

Philippe straightened himself, looking as haughty and composed as any man can be when scarlet cheeked and missing his drawers. “You’re mocking me,” he sniffed.

I frowned, becoming serious once more. “Never.”

“You are precious to us,” Isabeau said with equal solemnity, “We would have you be as great a part of our child’s life as you are to ours.”

Philippe’s eyes filled with tears again and he swallowed thickly. “I-If you’re certain,” he said, nearly a whisper. “I would… be honoured.”

Isabeau gave a joyous cry and flung her arms about our brother. For my part I let myself smile and patted his back in gratitude.

“Oh, your poor bottom!” Isabeau exclaimed, catching sight of Philippe's scalded skin from over his shoulder. “Dear, sweet boy, I must fetch you a poultice. No,” she scolded as I made to rise in her place. “I shall go, I am not so infirm just yet.”

Philippe watched her leave the room in a flurry of skirts, and I watched Philippe, gladdened to see a smile on his lips once more.

“Come,” I said, once we were alone, “let us get you more comfortable.”

He did not protest me, and in short order I had him positioned lengthways upon his stomach, his head resting in my lap, one arm wrapped about my knee. I lay my hand upon his head, and slowly began to stroke his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said sleepily, and little wonder for the day’s exertions.

“It is I who should apologise, my Mouse,” I said, leaving off my stroking briefly to offer his shoulders a tight squeeze. “I should have noticed this fear in you.” I grinned. “It’s not as if you hide your troubles well.”

Philippe huffed in mock affront, one hand pulling at the hem of his shirt to cover his flaming rump more fully. I understood his embarrassment, but knew it would be a futile gesture upon my lady’s return. I was not surprised to see that some spots had blistered. Isabeau’s hands were fearsome weapons indeed.

”I do, you know,” he said, turning his head to look up at me from under his tear-clumped lashes. His voice was drowsy, his energies spent.

”Hmm?”

“Love you,” he gnawed absently at his lip until I raised a hand to gently prise it free, to which he gave a bashful blush. “You think I didn’t at the beginning and perhaps you’re right, at least not the way I do now. But I do love you all the same, Etienne, and just as much as Isabeau.”

I could not have prevented my smile even had I wanted to, genuinely surprised at such a confession. It seemed natural to me that anyone would love a gracious, wondrous queen such as Isabeau over a mannerless brute like myself. But had I not just been lecturing my brother on such thoughts?

I leant down, kissing my brother’s worry-bitten lips.

”Thank you, dear heart.”

My lady returned soon after and with a cooling poultice. It took much coaxing to allow her to place it upon Philippe's sore backside, but as soon as she did I saw his tension melt away. In one last upset for him, I gently extracted myself from beneath his grumbling head, giving his lips another soft peck to soothe him and letting Isabeau take my place. He muzzured like a sleepy hen, resting his head against her knee, his cheek pressed against her belly.

I settled upon the rug, leaning against the chaise, one hand draped over my brother’s back, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. Isabeau too continued where I had left off, running her fingers through his messy hair.

Philippe heaved a mighty sigh and gave an embarrassed shuffle, nuzzling in deeper into both the chaise and our embrace, but before he could settle fully he gave a start and looked up at my lady in surprise.

“Was that—?”

Isabeau chuckled, laying her free hand upon her belly. “Yes, that was your Godchild.” She looked to me, her brow raised, “they’re strong, just like their father.”

“And just as belligerent,” Philippe sniggered, then yelped as I tweaked his ear. “Pardon, sir!”

“You’re forgiven,” I said, a smile on my lips.

Philippe lay back down, his mouth resting against Isabeau’s belly. “Hello in there,” he called softly. “It’s Philippe... your Godfather. My first piece of advice to you is to stop with all that knocking about. Your mother might have the face of an angel but her hand could put the Devil himself to shame, so you don’t want to get on her bad side, no sir!”

We laughed contentedly, Isabeau giving a good-natured roll of her eyes.

Quiet descended, the house and our hearts still, peaceful once more.

In the silence Philippe gave a soft sigh, on the very edge of sleep.

"Thank you."

I shared a loving smile with Isabeau and knelt up to press a sleepy kiss against his brow.

"You are ever welcome, dear brother," I said, but the boy was already asleep.


End file.
